Chance Encounters in Random Places
by Isilarma
Summary: What happens when a high functioning sociopath meets a genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist? Clint and John are about to find out.


**Chance Encounters in Random Places**

**Isilarma**

**Written as a birthday fic for The. Evil. Overlady, and because I have writer's block. It's extremely random, but I hope you all enjoy it.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

"Do not worry, Director; I hold neither you, nor your organisation responsible."

"I appreciate that. You can be sure that the parties responsible will be... spoken to."

"Do not be too hard on them. No doubt my brother deserves a fair proportion of the blame."

"How did they even meet? It's a city of eight million; how the hell did those four individuals manage to run into each other?"

* * *

"Come on Robin Hood, keep up."

"Call me that again and you won't be able to sit down for a week."

Tony pouted at him. "But we're in England! You need to get into the spirit of things."

"That's not the sort of spirit I need," Clint muttered. How did Stark always end up being his responsibility? "Sit down and wait for Bruce."

"But he's being so slow! He keeps having to stop and explain things to Thor."

And this was why he shouldn't bet with Natasha. She was probably having a very nice time at the Tate with Steve, while he was stuck babysitting a hyperactive billionaire.

"Besides," said Tony after a moment, "there're weapons this way. You know, bows and stuff."

"Bows and stuff? Yeah, you're really selling this now."

"You know, you're acting like a child who wasn't allowed an ice cream."

Clint stared at him. "You have issues, Stark."

"Yeah, so my therapist says."

"You have a therapist?" Whoever they were, they weren't being paid enough.

"Nah, he quit. No idea why."

Clint rolled his eyes, but before he could comment, Tony had darted into the next room. Clint was tempted to leave him there, but the thought of what Fury would say if he found out that a bored Tony Stark had been left unsupervised in the British Museum... He scowled and followed.

To his relief, the room was deserted but for two men by the opposite wall. Clint assessed them automatically; the first was of average height with brown hair. Nothing extraordinary, but Clint recognised the way he held himself. Military. Interesting. His gaze moved to the second, who could not have been more different to his companion. Tall, and skinny, with wild black hair, he captured attention effortlessly. Clint frowned. There was something familiar about the second man. Maybe something he had read...

"Hey Birdboy, you gonna stand there all day? Want a marshmallow?"

The man was forgotten in favour of glaring at Tony. "What did I say about nicknames?"

Tony shrugged and popped a marshmallow in his mouth. "What? You only said no to Robin Hood, and Legolas, and William Tell-"

"Tony-"

"Have you seen this? Cool, huh?"

"Not interested."

"Look, we're trying to have fun. Can't you drop the secret agent stuff for one minute?"

"Keep it down," Clint hissed. He glanced over at the room's other occupants, but they were involved in a rather heated discussion of their own. He turned back to Tony. "What part of 'secret' didn't you get?"

"I can keep secrets."

"Oh really, Mr 'I am Iron Man?'"

Tony opened his mouth, but his retort was cut off by a loud exclamation.

"That doesn't mean you can do it, Sherlock!"

It was the brown-haired man. He gave them a quick apologetic grimace and lowered his voice, but his words still carried in the quiet. "You can't just go round changing all the display cards."

"I'm not changing them, I'm correcting them," the second man snapped.

"It's the same thing!"

"But they're wrong, and it's obvious."

"Not everyone can be an expert on bloodstains, Sherlock."

"Okay, and that's not disturbing at all," Tony muttered, but Clint was no longer listening. Now he knew why they had looked so familiar.

"Sherlock Holmes."

Tony stared at him. "Does S.H.I.E.L.D. stalk everyone?"

"Shut up, Tony. Let's go and find those bows." He had a feeling that leaving these two particular genii in the same room was a very bad idea.

Tony's eyes narrowed. "Two minutes ago you weren't interested."

"So now you're the only person who can change his mind? Come on."

"But you only changed it after hearing them."

"Stark-"

"What's so special about Sherlock Holmes?"

Did the idiot not realise how loud his voice was? Clint had a horrible suspicion that he did. "Will you shut up?"

"Excuse me."

Clint closed his eyes for a moment. This was not going to go well. Slowly, he turned to find Holmes and Watson standing behind them. Holmes was glaring at Tony, but Watson's expression was very different.

"Are you Tony Stark?"

Tony's face split into an all too familiar grin. "The one and only."

Watson's eyes widened, but Holmes just frowned. "Who?"

Clint suddenly found himself wishing he'd taken Tony up on his offer of a new phone, just so he could have a permanent record of the gobsmacked expression on the billionaire's face. Watson just rolled his eyes.

"Sherlock, even you must know who Tony Stark is."

"Why? Did he do something to earn all the money he has?"

"How can you know I'm rich, but not know who I am?" Tony demanded. "Who the hell are you anyway?"

"Sherlock Holmes."

If he was expecting a reaction, he was going to be disappointed. Tony just folded his arms. "Never heard of him."

Holmes switched his glare to Watson. "I thought you said people read your blog."

"I'm so sorry that Tony Stark isn't one of them," Watson retorted. "Maybe he was busy running a multibillion pound company or, I don't know, saving the world."

Tony meanwhile had rounded on Clint. "Who exactly is this guy, and why should I know him?"

"Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective," said Clint.

"There's no such thing as a consulting detective."

"Obviously there is; I am one."

"Only because you invented it," John put in. He turned to Clint and held out a hand. "Dr. John Watson. You're the archer, aren't you?"

Clint nodded curtly. "Clint Barton." He jerked his head at his teammate. "I see you've met Stark."

John nodded. "A pleasure, and this is Sherlock."

Clint suddenly found himself the object of an intense scrutiny. "So you're another one of these 'superheroes?'"

"In a manner of speaking."

"Yes, I suppose you can't take too much time out from being a secret agent."

"Okay, this is getting creepy," said Tony. "How are you even doing that?"

"It's kind of his thing," said John, before Sherlock could answer. "Does it to me all the time."

"That must get annoying." Clint raised an eyebrow at him, but John nodded.

"You have no idea."

Sherlock folded his arms. "This is a waste of time."

Tony raised an eyebrow. "You think talking to people is a waste of time?"

"No. Talking to boring people is a waste of time."

John covered his face with one hand. Clint leaned back against the nearest display case, too amused to be insulted. Tony's eyes narrowed.

"Excuse me. Boring?"

"Sherlock," John growled.

"You told me I should tell people the whole truth."

"Not like this, I didn't."

"So you're a genius who can't talk to people," said Tony. "How exactly is that going for you?"

"Better than your attempts to prove yourself the biggest ego in the room."

John just shook his head and glanced at Clint. "This might take a while. Sorry about him."

"I'm used to it." The sniping had now developed into a full-blown argument, and he couldn't be bothered to stop it. "So what regiment were you?"

Living with Sherlock must have been numbing, for John didn't even blink at the question. "Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. You?"

"Just S.H.I.E.L.D. now."

"And the Avengers?"

Clint jerked his head at Tony. "Someone has to keep an eye on him, and Natasha's had her turn."

"Natasha? The Black Widow?"

"That's the one." He recognised the expression on John's face and quickly changed the subject. "How did you wind up with him?"

John rubbed the back of his neck somewhat sheepishly. "Er, well there was a flat, and then a murder-"

"That is it!"

Both men looked round in time to see Sherlock storming off towards the exit. Tony folded his arms.

"And all that stuff wasn't even a little bit true," he yelled.

"Denial," Sherlock called back.

Clint gritted his teeth. "Shut up, Tony."

"Sherlock, where are you going?" John demanded.

"Bored," Sherlock yelled over his shoulder. "Besides, we have to be on the second floor in eight minutes."

"Eight – wait, what?"

"Hurry up."

Clint's eyes narrowed at the dismay on John's face. "Something wrong?"

John sighed, his attention on his phone as he tapped out a message. "Well, usually when we have to be somewhere it means we're going to get shot at."

"Shot at," Tony repeated blankly.

"Or arrested. That's happened too." He put the phone away and sighed again. "I'd better go after him."

Clint fired off a quick text of his own. "Lead the way."

Surprise flickered in John's eyes. "What?"

"We can handle people shooting at us."

"And it is kind of our job," Tony added.

"John!"

"Coming," John yelled back. He glanced back at Tony and Clint. "You're sure?"

"Why not? And it'll teach that stuck up git. Not a real job my ass," he muttered under his breath.

Clint rolled his eyes. "You are going to stay out of the way."

"I've got a suit."

"Not with you."

"I'm handling that."

Clint shot him a sharp look, but Sherlock chose that moment to stick his head around the door. "Are you coming or not?"

John scowled and headed for the door. "What? We've still got seven minutes."

"Six and a half actually, and it'll take four..." His eyes narrowed as Clint followed John. "What is he doing?"

"Coming with you," said Clint.

"No, you're not."

"Sherlock, don't you think it might be a good idea to have a professional with us? For once?"

"You're a soldier."

"I was a soldier. He's better."

Sherlock's gaze switched to Tony. "And what are you going to do, bribe them?"

"Hey, it works."

"We're wasting time," Clint snapped. "Get moving, or I'll leave you behind."

Sherlock glared at him. "This is my case."

"Then you'd better keep up."

Sherlock's glare turned deadly, and he stalked away. Tony smirked, but his grin faded when Clint turned to him. "If you get shot and leave me with a ton of paperwork, I will use Dummy for target practice."

Tony folded his arms. "S.H.I.E.L.D. really needs to find an alternative to blackmail."

"Why? It works. Now stay behind me, and don't wander off." He walked off without bothering to see if the billionaire was following. So much for a quiet break.

Clint was relieved when both Tony and Sherlock chose to sulk instead of argue as they made their way down. He wasn't particularly concerned; he had his gun, and they had back-up, but John was frowning.

"You all right?"

John grimaced. "I should know better than to leave my gun at home when Sherlock suggests doing something. I'd feel a lot better with it."

"I know the feeling." He had his gun, but he much preferred his bow. "We should be fine."

John nodded, but he still did not look happy. He glanced at Tony. "Do you have a weapon?"

Tony shook his head. "Don't need one."

"And he can't shoot straight unless they're built into his hands," Clint added.

Tony muttered something distinctly uncomplimentary under his breath, but did not try to argue. Clint looked at Sherlock.

"You armed?"

"Why would I be armed?"

Clint stared at him. "You were going to walk into a potentially dangerous situation unarmed?"

"John would be there."

"I'm not armed either, Sherlock!"

"That was stupid. Why not?"

"Because you told me we were going to a museum! Most people don't need to be able to shoot someone when they want to learn some history!"

Tony just looked at Clint. "Still think I'm difficult?"

Clint silently counted to ten. And then to fifty. "Let's just get this done."

"Sounds good to me," John growled. "Sherlock, what exactly are we doing?"

"Remember that series of robberies?"

"The ones Gregson is stuck on?"

"No, the ones he's solved. Yes, those. Well, they're coming here."

John closed his eyes for a moment. "Did it not occur to you to tell the police?"

"Of course it did."

"You just chose not to."

"It's my case."

"It's Gregson's case!"

"Are these people likely to be armed?" Clint interrupted.

Sherlock nodded. "Quite probably."

John scowled, but Clint just nodded. "How many?"

"Four."

That shouldn't be a problem, but now Tony was frowning. "Isn't it a bit stupid to try robbing somewhere in broad daylight?"

"That's why I took the case," said Sherlock. "Much more interesting."

Interesting. Right.

A minute later, they found the passage blocked by a security guard.

"I'm sorry sirs, but you can't come in here."

John frowned. "Why not?"

"Renovations."

"It didn't say anything about renovations downstairs."

"They only began today." His attention was on John, and so Clint didn't have too much trouble drifting closer. "I really must ask you to leave."

John caught Clint's eye and nodded. A single well-aimed blow left the man sprawled unconscious on the floor. John checked him and nodded.

"He should be out for a couple of hours. Nice hit."

"Thanks."

Sherlock was already halfway down the corridor. "Come on."

"Keep your hair on," Tony called.

"Both of you, shut up," Clint hissed. "Do you want to let them know we're coming?" He ignored the glares they directed his way and pulled the guard round the corner. "Let's go."

Despite their grumbles, they did keep quiet as they moved along the corridor. Or mostly quiet; Sherlock didn't seem able to resist giving John a detailed description of how he had solved the case. Clint tuned it out, but Tony listened with interest.

"He can really do that?" he murmured.

Clint shrugged. "He has had some impressive results. Fury's been keeping an eye on him for a while now."

"Huh." After a beat he smirked. "He doesn't play well with others either."

"I hadn't noticed." His levity faded when John held up a hand.

"They're just up ahead," he breathed.

Clint risked a brief glance around the corner. Two men were standing by one of the display cases. He turned back to the others. "Cover me; I only see two of them."

John nodded, his face unusually grim. "We'll keep an eye out."

Clint took a deep breath, then drew his gun and stepped round. "Stop right there."

This was why he liked sneaking up on people. Both of them jumped at the sound, and spun to face him.

"What the-"

"Step away before I fire. And don't even think about it," he snapped, when one of them made a convulsive movement towards the back of his belt. "Think you can draw that before I can shoot?" They glared at him, but both raised their hands. Without taking his eyes, or gun, off them, Clint called over his shoulder, "Get their weapons."

John moved forwards, and quickly and efficiently checked the pair of them. Tony and Sherlock hung back, their voices a low murmur, but as long as they weren't fighting or getting in the way, Clint didn't care. He glared at the captives.

"All right, where's your friend?"

"What friend?"

"There's no one else."

Clint raised an eyebrow. "Sure. Sherlock, did you actually call the police?"

"I did," said John. "They should be here soon."

"Good. Nothing to do except wait then."

Of course, it was never going to be that simple.

"Hold it."

Clint's gun didn't move, but he glanced round. The final member of the gang stood in the passage behind them, his gun trained on Sherlock and Tony. From the slightly manic glint in his eyes, he would not be afraid to use it. Clint's eyes narrowed.

"Put that down before someone gets hurt."

The man laughed. "Not on your life. You put it down, and call off your friend too."

Clint's eyes flickered round the room. He could shoot the man, but that would lead to someone else getting shot too. There had to be an alternative. Tony opened his mouth, but a warning glance made him close it again. This was not the time for Stark to start attracting attention.

His attention was suddenly diverted by a flicker of movement in his peripheral vision. Clint turned his head. The large windows looked out over the city. In other circumstances he might have enjoyed the view, but now he was rather more interested in the small dark object moving very rapidly in their direction.

"Get down!" he yelled. He dove to the floor, shoving Sherlock down as he did so, just as something crashed through the window. Clint covered his eyes from the flying glass, but he had enough time to recognise the object.

"Stark!"

But it was too late. The case was already unfolding, and the familiar gold and red armour was already forming around his friend. The thieves lay frozen, too stunned to think of even reaching for their weapons. Even John and Sherlock were left speechless. The faceplate snapped into place, and there was a familiar whir as repulsors fired up.

"Still want to try your luck?"

Guns clattered to the floor. Tony turned, and Clint didn't have to see the smirk to know it was there. "Told you I was handling it."

Clint gritted his teeth and pulled himself up. "Do you realise what you just did?" he growled.

"Er, stopped a mass shooting?"

Clint took a deep breath, but his words were cut off as the doors were thrown open and a number of people dashed in. In front were Natasha and Thor, along with a burly policeman. Clint swallowed. None of them looked happy. The policeman's eyes bulged at the sight of them.

"Sherlock!"

Tony and Sherlock rounded on Clint and John.

"You called Lestrade?"

"You called Natasha?"

Natasha just folded her arms. "So this is your definition of under control, is it?"

Clint looked round at the chaos and shrugged. "Stark did it."

"Hey!"

"I'm sorry Inspector," John was saying. "He didn't tell me until a few minutes ago."

"You never asked."

Thor just shook his head. "You mortals do complicate things."

Clint couldn't actually argue with that. John glared at Sherlock.

"We are never coming here again."

Clint understood perfectly. Next time Natasha kept an eye on Stark.

* * *

Nick Fury leaned back in his chair. "Stark does tend to go to extremes. He will be contributing to payment for the repairs."

"I believe he has already promised to do so," Mycroft Holmes assured him. "By all accounts, Miss Romanoff spoke to him rather firmly."

Nick smirked. "I thought she might." His grin faded. "Your discretion in this matter is very much appreciated."

Mycroft waved the thanks away. "I have had plenty of practice. And I am grateful that your agents were there. Mr Stark is not the only one who can be carried away by his own cleverness."

"Apparently not. How exactly are you planning to explain everything?"

"Oh, I am sure I will come up with something. It is not the first time Sherlock has got himself into trouble. Thankfully, I have the resources to deal with it."

"The perks of your position," said Nick with a smirk.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "I really don't know what you mean. I occupy a minor governmental position."

"Sure."

Mycroft smirked and rose to his feet. "Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Director. Let's just hope that next time it is in more pleasant circumstances."

Nick shook his hand. "And that our charges are on opposite sides of the pond when we do."

* * *

**Yeah, I know it's ridiculous, but I needed a break from serious stories. Please let me know what you thought.**


End file.
